


Cover Our Eyes

by orphan_account



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Auctions, Boarding School, Child Abuse, Class Issues, Drugs, Gangs, Ghosts, Kidnapping, M/M, Magic, Murder, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Racism, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Assault, Slavery, Violence, Witches, mentions of rape!, there is no explicit non-con it is implied
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 03:37:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8733271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The witches in Henrietta are mysteriously disappearing and ending up dead. In which, the raven boys have to hook up with the dream pack in order to fight the hunters that have come to town.





	1. Prologue; June 16, 2012

**Author's Note:**

> I started a story similar to this a while ago, but it didn't pan out, so this is round 2 of trying to tell this story. There are mentions of rape in this story, but there is no explicit scenes involving rape. It is mentioned and implied by context clues. I will add trigger warnings before chapters that involve sensitive topics such as rape and abuse. 
> 
> Please read the tags and check them often. I do update tags as I write. I tried to preemptively add tags that I believe will be applicable to the full story.

Crossing a gravel driveway without making noise was impossible, even for someone as surefooted as him. Greenmantle wanted the hit done _tonight_ , so the Grey Man could only be grateful that a storm had rolled in and decided to linger. The leaves on the trees hissed and whispered as the wind blew in from the south. The night air was exceptionally warm tonight, even before the sun had had a chance to make an appearance on the horizon.

 

The Grey Man lingered near the black BMW sitting outside the garage. His target would appear soon as long as he stuck to the usual schedule. For weeks, the Grey Man had tracked his target’s movements, his habits; he’d even learned what the man liked to eat and drink on a daily basis. A small beep, marking the hour, chirped from his watch: 6:00 a.m.

 

The front door opened. A tall, handsome man with a head full of dark, perfectly coiffed hair appeared; he was dressed in a full suit, with a navy overcoat, a cup of coffee in his right hand and car keys in the left.

 

The Grey Man’s grip tightened on the weapon of choice; the target’s own tire iron. When his target reached the car, the Grey Man stepped around and brought the metal bar down on the back of his target’s head. One blow, while enough to bring the man to his knees, was not enough to kill. The Grey Man struck that perfect head of hair until the gravel ran red and he was certain the target was dead.

 

The Grey Man straightened and checked his watch: 6:15 a.m.

 

He removed a phone from his pocket and dialed one. A voice came on the other end. “It’s done,” the Grey Man said evenly.

 

“Good.”

 

The line went dead. The Grey Man dropped the weapon and then snapped the phone in half, leaving nothing more than broken pieces of glass behind. If he moved quickly, he could arrive in time for his favorite diner to open. The Grey Man whistled as he climbed into his grey car and drove away.


	2. Present Day Virgina

**HAVE YOU SEEN ME?**

TAD CARRUTHERS

_MISSING 02/01/15_

 

Ronan regarded the faded missing posters hanging in the diner’s window. They were practically bleached white from the sun and he could just barely make out the ghost image of Tad Carruthers. He’d been missing for almost two years and the police had never found him or his body. The assumption was that he was definitely dead, but his parents still held vigils and search parties, just in case he would appear somewhere in their small town.

 

Ronan’s money was on murder or the kid had simply run away from his charmed life at Aglionby, all boys boarding school. Honestly, if that were the case, Ronan wouldn’t blame him for it. Maybe the homophobic asshole had run off to Los Angeles and started the band he’d always gone on and on about during Latin.

 

Rolling his eyes at the thought, Ronan opened the door to Nino’s and walked into the too hot atmosphere. It wasn’t quite dinner time, so the diner was mostly empty, except for where Richard Gansey was sitting with Adam Parrish in the back corner. Gansey was furiously writing in his overpacked journal and Adam was flipping through a textbook. Ronan crossed the room and slid into the booth beside Gansey without a word, simply regarding Adam’s reading habits and ignoring Gansey’s fountain pen scratching furiously.

 

They were both annoying.

 

“You’re both insufferable,” Ronan mumbled as he picked up a menu, even though they always ordered the same thing; sausage pizza with avocado, because Richard Gansey was secretly a freak of nature.

 

“Busy,” Gansey said shortly.

 

Adam shrugged helplessly at Ronan. “He said the same thing to me when I got here, so I just decided to finish up my homework.”

 

Ronan snorted and shoved the menu to the side. “Losers.”

 

“Says the person calling us losers,” Gansey replied as he finally set his journal aside and put the fountain pen carefully down on the table so he didn’t lose track of it. “We already ordered. You’re late, so you do not get a say.”

 

Ronan shrugged and stretched as best he could in the cramped booth. “We need to find a new place to go, I’m sick of pizza.”

 

“ _You’re_ sick of pizza?” Gansey repeated in disbelief. He shoved his glasses up his nose with his index finger, staring at Ronan as if he’d grown a second head. “Since when do you tire of junk food?”

 

“I dunno, since I did.”

 

“Adam, do you believe him? I don’t believe him.”

 

Adam didn’t look up from writing a math problem down on his notebook and shrugged his thin shoulders a bit. “There are many things I do not believe.”

 

“Like how they still haven't found Tad Carruthers,” Ronan remarked as he suddenly thought of the poster on the diner’s door. “He’s dead. Gotta be dead.”

 

Gansey and Adam both looked at him then, as if he’d killed Tad himself. “Ronan,” Gansey said, his voice gravely serious. “Don’t say things like that.”

 

“Why? We can’t _make_ things happen by saying them, Gansey,” Ronan said with a snort. “We aren’t the Witches of fucking Eastwick”

 

Their waitress was walking over with two large pizzas, somehow managing to balance one on each hand. A Gansey special and a meat lovers, which made Ronan want to almost kiss Gansey on the mouth, but he refrained from such a level of affection. Once their waitress left them again, it was Adam’s turn to scorn him for being _insensitive_.

 

“You don’t know Tad’s dead,” Adam said.

 

“You _hated_ Tad, and you’re acting so butthurt over me saying he’s probably dead?” Ronan asked, as he picked up a piece of pizza. “You _both_ hated tad. Hell, pretty sure everyone in the entire school hated that asshole, but _I’m_ the bad guy? Dude’s dead. End of story.”

 

Tad had gone missing after a party in February and no one had seen him since that night. Some people had casually accused Joseph Kavinsky for murdering the prick, since he’d been the last one to see him alive, but like most things, Kavinsky had walked away with barely a scratch. Claimed to have an alibi, which had checked out, but Gansey wasn’t so sure. They didn’t call Kavinsky _witch killer_ for nothing.

 

“You still shouldn’t say things like that,” Gansey said as he slowly picked up a slice of pizza for himself. “He could be alive, you don’t know where he is.”

 

“No, but-.”

 

“Ronan,” Adam said, which put an end to the conversation.

 

Ronan was tempted to stand up and leave, but he refrained, because then Gansey would win and he couldn’t have that. Letting Gansey win would mean he was conceding and admitting he was wrong while Gansey was right and he couldn’t have _that_ either. Instead, Ronan picked at his pizza and ignored the conversation Gansey struck up with Adam.

 

Tad Carruthers had disappeared without a trace and no one knew what had happened to him. Ronan presumed the kid was dead, but Gansey was partially right; no one knew what had happened to Tad except Tad and the person who had taken him if that were the case. It reminded him of how the summer he’d turned fifteen, he’d walked outside to find his father’s dead body in the driveway, his skull crushed by a bloody tire iron. The police had never found his father’s killer either.

 

The same man could have taken and killed Tad.

 

Ronan turned his gaze over to Adam and studied the boy’s freckles and his hazel eyes and wispy hair. He trailed his eyes down along Adam’s strong jawline and the delicate curve of his neck, to where he could see a hint of his collarbone when he shifted just right. When Adam rested his hands on the table, Ronan quietly admired them; they were anomalies, both strong and delicate at once.  The backs of them coated in a dusting of freckles that reminded Ronan of the stars.

 

A sound from the kitchen drew Ronan out of his observation of Adam and instead he found his gaze moving over to Gansey, which was one of many mistakes Ronan would probably make during the day. The way Gansey ate pizza was the way a certain class of people tended to eat their food, and Ronan had always found Gansey’s _Gansey-ness_ fascinating. The way Gansey’s hands were large and strong, the way his shoulders were loose and his biceps were bulky from all of the rowing, swimming, and other athletics Gansey participated in. Honey brown eyes and perfectly styled hair completed the perfect Gansey picture.

 

Ronan had to force his eyes down to the table and he angrily slumped down as far as he could without falling onto the floor. He couldn’t imagine a world without Adam and Gansey in it, and Ronan didn’t _want_ to imagine a world without either of them. The thought of one of them going missing because some psycho was out there kidnapping kids and killing fathers, however, would not go away no matter how much he dismissed it. “What if someone else goes missing?” Ronan asked, interrupting whatever dull conversation Gansey and Adam were having. “I mean, what if one of us goes missing?”

 

“What?” Adam asked, his head tilting to the side in confusion. He exchanged a glance with Gansey who was staring at Ronan, too. They were waiting on him to elaborate.

 

“Whatever. Never mind.” Ronan stood up then and walked out of the diner toward his car, which was parked across the street against the curb. It was a stupid thought and now he was going to have to listen to Gansey bug him for hours back at Aglionby in their room, which was enough to make him want to crash at his house, even if it were empty save for his mother and her around the clock nurse. After his father’s death, she’d fallen into a coma no one could explain. Ronan even remembered going to her room to wake her and tell her about his father’s death, tears running down his face that morning, but after seeing her lying asleep and no matter of shaking had woken her, the tears and stopped.

 

They were permanently stopped as far as Ronan could tell.

 

He didn’t cry over his lost parents. He didn’t cry over anything.

 

Squealing tires and a police siren made Ronan pause before climbing into the BMW he’d inherited from his father. Turning slightly, Ronan watched as a mean, white Mitsubishi swung around the corner and almost crashed into an official post office box, before righting itself and careening down the small street toward the town square. A police car appeared shortly after, sirens blaring and lights flashing.

 

Joseph Kavinsky.

 

Ronan rolled his eyes and climbed into the car. Last time he’d checked, Kavinsky had just gotten the Mitsubishi back from being impounded after being pulled over for doing 140 miles per hour in a 35. The cops had told him that they were going to crush his precious car and make him watch if he were caught again, and Kavinsky had laughed and told them he wouldn’t be caught. From the looks of things, Kavinsky would be eating his words and possibly watching his precious car be destroyed.

 

Ronan followed where Kavinsky and the cop had driven without thinking about it. The cop had finally caught Kavinsky, where he was pulled over near a McDonald’s. Ronan snorted and shook his head at the idea of Kavinsky leading the cop right up to the drive thru, but apparently he’d given up, which didn’t seem like Kavinsky in Ronan’s opinion. The BMW crawled up near the cop and K’s Mitsubishi and he watched as the portly man wobbled toward the driver’s side. Ronan could see a silhouette in K’s car, meaning he probably had Prokopenko with him.

 

 _You’re gonna owe me, you bastard_ , Ronan thought as he floored it and lurched his car down the road at well over the speed limit. The cop whirled around and began to run back to his car, leaving Kavinsky with a grin on his face. The BMW shot down the street and Ronan’s smile slowly slithered into place.  Running from the cops to save Kavinsky’s ass sounded like an okay Tuesday afternoon. Gansey was going to kill him.

 

* * *

 

“ _Another_ speeding ticket?” Gansey asked in disbelief as Ronan pinned the newest addition to his door in their suite. “Ronan Lynch-.”

 

“Hey, don’t _Mom_ me,” Ronan said as he took a step back and admired his collection. He had many speeding tickets and honestly he was still trying to figure out how he hadn’t had his license suspended.

 

“How did you get a speeding ticket? How fast were you going?” Gansey continued to hound him as he sat on the floor gluing together two pieces of cardboard in the shape of a tower and castle wall. He’d been building his castle diorama for their Euro History course since last week but it was almost complete.

 

“I saw Kavinsky get pulled over so I gave the distraction he needed to not get his car impounded. Again.” Ronan ran a hand over his head and pulled out his phone to see if Kavinsky had texted him a thank you.

 

“You saved _Joseph Kavinsky’s_ ass?” Gansey asked in complete disbelief. “ _Why_ would you do that?”

The Gansey-Kavinsky rivalry stretched back to when Kavinsky had transferred to Aglionby their freshman year. The very _look_ of Kavinsky had made Gansey hate him automatically and apparently the hatred had been mutual. They’d never gotten along, but no matter how much Gansey hated Kavinsky or even how much Adam hated him, Ronan could not bring himself to hate Kavinsky in the same fashion. Kavinsky was indeed despicable and a piece of New Jersey trash, but Ronan was fascinated by Kavinsky in a way he found wild animals fascinating. And no matter how often he was bitten, Ronan kept getting too close.

 

“Ronan, why would you-.”

 

“Because I did,” Ronan replied as he opened his bedroom door and slammed it shut in Gansey’s face before he could ask any more questions. He opened the door and slammed it again, just to hear the sound reverberate around the room and then clicked the lock to the left. He checked his phone again.

 

Ronan personally detested his phone, so he could not bring himself to text Kavinsky first. He was probably off passing his fake ID off to get alcohol for whatever party he would be throwing or attending tonight. Wherever Kavinsky walked, a party was bound to happen or take place. It was like a law of nature. His phone chirped.

 

\-- _ronan lynch you bastard_

 

Ronan rolled his eyes at Kavinsky’s greeting and almost typed some choice words back in return, but Kavinsky was still typing.

 

_\-- just because you saved my sweet hot ass doesn’t mean i owe you, fucker either way come to my party tonight @9p be there_

 

The bed creaked beneath Ronan’s weight as he stretched out on the mattress, which was partially covered in blankets, pillows, and discarded hoodies and shirts. His floor looked similar and the walls were covered in posters, sticky notes, and even more speeding tickets. Gansey hated his room, but Ronan enjoyed the chaos of his inner sanctum.

 

_\-- are u coming? are u coming? come to the party lynch_

 

Ronan rolled his eyes as he finally decided to go ahead and reply to Kavinsky’s onslaught of messages.

 

**\-- fine. now do us all favor and shut the fuck up**

 

The next message Ronan received was of Kavinsky flipping him off, which made Ronan snort and toss his phone aside. Kavinsky really was the worst person on the entire planet, but that wouldn’t stop him from going to Kavinsky’s party. Standing, Ronan walked over to his bedroom door and yanked it open. “You want to go to a party with me?” Ronan asked Gansey.

 

“Where?” Gansey asked as he slowly settled the final bit of the tower on the base of his castle.

 

“Kavinsky’s.”

 

Gansey groaned. “Not particularly.”

 

“Fine, more for me.”

 

“Have fun, don’t get arrested.”

 

Ronan smirked and wondered how long it would take Gansey to really process what he’d said. He shut the bedroom door and decided to crash nap until the party. Kavinsky would hate it if he were late, so Ronan decided that was exactly what he would do. The smirk didn’t leave his face even in his sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

- _\- are u coming are u coming? where r u ?_

 

Joseph Kavinsky was the neediest person in the entire world, this was scientifically proven fact. If Ronan had run a study on Kavinsky’s neediness for a science fair project, he was certain he could have won first place for accuracy. Ignoring Kavinsky’s texts was an artform, but since he didn’t like using his phone anyway, it was easier than it looked.

 

The only information he’d gotten from Kavinsky earlier during his nap had been Kavinsky texting him the address to where the party was being held. It wasn’t at the Kavinsky mansion, as Ronan had presumed, but it was being held at some abandoned warehouse off on the outskirts of town. When Ronan pulled the BMW through the rusted gates, the parking lot was already packed with cars, most of them expensive, and he could see colored lights flashing through the busted windows of the warehouse.

 

Kavinsky knew how to throw a party.

 

Gansey had declined to come, which had surprised Ronan a little. Normally, he didn’t like to party or revel, but he didn’t want Ronan to go into Kavinsky’s kingdom alone either, so he had figured Gansey would swallow his pride and come along. Ronan parked the BMW on the other side of the building so he wasn’t crowded in and could pull out in an emergency if he needed to.

 

The parking lot was pitch black dark, save for the flashing lights coming from inside the building, but Ronan didn’t think anything would happen to him at Kavinsky’s party. It was just as absurd as something horrible happening to him at church on Sunday. The ground he walked on was hallowed earth, where drug addicts and college students came to worship the pulse of electronica and have a taste of Kavinsky’s substances.

 

As soon as Ronan stepped into the building, he felt the floor vibrating beneath his feet. The throb and bass of the electronic music ran up Ronan’s legs and through his bones and bloodstream. It made him feel alive as he walked, hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket. There were people in the hallways, making out, giving each other blowjobs, but Ronan ignored them. He ignore the offer of a stoned girl holding out a handful of colorful pills before stepping into where the main party was being held.

 

The room was packed like a can of sardines, with people grinding on another like a strange amoebic creature. Ronan stood in the doorway, regarding the mating ritual in front of him with a sneer. He didn’t mind parties, but packed rooms send nervous signals firing to his brain. There were too many people, it was too hot, and he was never going to find Kavinsky in this mess.

 

His phone chirped.

 

_\-- are you here yet? where are you?_

 

Ronan dared to text back for once.

 

**\-- where are you? it’s packed**

 

_\-- best party yet don’t hate i’ll come to you_

 

**\-- front doors**

 

Ronan waited near the entrance and stepped off to the side as more people showed up, already toasted from the way they wobbled into the room. The song changed pace and the lights began to pulse with the beat. It was making Ronan’s head hurt and he leaned back against the wall with his eyes shut.

 

“ _Lynch,_ you piece of shit, you made it!” There was a warmth to Kavinsky’s tone as he appeared suddenly as if Ronan had summoned him. “Where’s Dick?”

 

“He didn’t come,” Ronan replied as he slowly opened his eyes and regarded Kavinsky’s usual get up; white tank top, ripped skinny jeans that were too big, and the gold chain and earring that glittered in the flashing lights. A red, backward snapback rested on his head and there was an amused smirk on his handsome face. His hooded eyes were completely black in the light, which Ronan couldn’t decide if that were due to him already being high or the dimness to the room.

 

“Well, good,” Kavinsky said as he approached, draping an arm around Ronan’s shoulders as if they were friends. “He’s such a fucking buzzkill.”

 

“High already, you Jersey piece of trash?” Ronan asked, but there was no judgement in his voice. He was just seeking affirmation.

 

Kavinsky barked out a laugh that had no humor in it. It was like being splashed with ice cold water. “Fuck yeah I’m high. Not high enough though! Want to try something with me?” Kavinsky reached into his pocket and pulled out two oblong green pills with no identifying markers on them. “Supposed to make you _fly_.”

 

Ronan shook his head. “I don’t do drugs, Kavinsky.”

 

“Aw, c’mon, it’ll be fun. I gave some to Proko and,” Kavinsky paused to laugh again, “he’s a fucking mess. It’s fantastic.”

 

Ronan wondered if Kavinsky _ever_ treated Prokopenko like a person. It was maddening to see the way Kavinsky treated the poor boy. “Jesus, Kavinsky, you really are a piece of shit.”

 

“He _wanted_ to fly,” Kavinsky purred as he placed a pill on his tongue, next to the glittering tongue ring he sported in his mouth. He swallowed the pill and said, “I’m just helping.”

 

Ronan pulled out from under Kavinsky’s arm, no longer wanting to be touched by him. He thought of Prokopenko, Kavinsky’s Familiar, and wondered if he were alright. He was a lightweight, from what Ronan remembered, and could not take the same drug abuse Kavinsky put into his body all of the time. “Where’s Proko?”

 

“Oh, I left him over there somewhere,” Kavinsky said dismissively as he gestured to the left corner of the room. “Who fucking cares, he’s fine, he’ll just sleep it off!”

 

Ronan pushed Kavinsky to the side and began to shoulder his way through the crowd, daring to brave the bump and grind of too many bodies in one room. Kavinsky was yelling at him, but Ronan couldn’t hear him over the roar of the music. The further he pushed into the room, the hotter it became, and by the time he reached the dark corner where there were some tables and chairs set up, he was sweating.

 

Prokopenko was lying on the floor and Ronan rushed over to make sure the kid was breathing. His pulse was racing and he was breathing, but Ronan worried that the kid wasn’t going to wake up if he’d overdosed. Ronan pulled out his phone and dialed 911. Calling the cops on a Kavinsky party was like committing a sin, but Ronan did it anyway, his fingers still on Proko’s flying pulse. He wasn’t going to let Kavinsky kill his fucking Familiar, even if Kavinsky didn’t care about him at all.

 

“Yeah,” Ronan said when he answered, “I need an ambulance at the old shoe factory. There’s a kid by the chairs who needs medical attention.” He hung up without giving any more information and then he rolled Proko over so if he had to vomit, he wouldn’t choke to death.

 

Ronan could already hear Gansey being _proud_ of him and he rolled his eyes. He was gonna kick Kavinsky’s ass later. The wailing of the sirens soon had people rushing and trying to get out of there as fast as possible. When the cops and the EMTs showed up, Ronan stayed with Proko and watched as they descended on him with medical supplies. When they took Proko away, Ronan noted that they also had Kavinsky in handcuffs. The sight made him almost laugh, but Ronan withheld. Instead, he stood off to the side, and gave Kavinsky a casual, mocking salute. If Kavinsky could have, Ronan was certain he would have flipped him off.

 

The party broke up and the cops began to drag Kavinsky to their patrol car. They wouldn’t hold him long, Ronan knew, Kavinsky _always_ got away, but they’d probably at least keep him in a cell overnight. Maybe they’d finally crush his car to bits like they’d promised him. Ronan sighed. He was going to miss that Mitsubishi.

 

* * *

 

The door to the suite creaked as Ronan pushed it open. It was what he got for trying to sneak in. Not that it mattered, Gansey was sitting awake in the common room like the insomniac he was anyway.

 

“It’s late,” Gansey said without looking up from hot glueing small buildings together. “Past curfew. How did you even get in?”

 

Ronan shut the door and turned the lock. “ _Magic_ ,” he replied sarcastically, which made Gansey roll his eyes.

 

“You aren’t funny.”

 

“I know.” Ronan flopped down onto the couch. “I’m hilarious.”

 

Gansey set his building aside slowly. Ronan admired the delicate way Gansey’s fingers caressed the paper objects. Gansey had nice hands. “Did the cops come?” Gansey asked.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Of course. Were you arrested?”

 

“No.” Ronan shut his eyes as he thought on how the EMTs had come to take Proko away. Kavinsky’s lack of care made Ronan’s skin crawl. “I called them,” he said darkly.

 

That made Gansey turn to face him. “ _You_ called the cops?”

 

He nodded. “Yeah.”

 

“Why?”

 

He shrugged and stood, acting as if he didn’t care. “Felt like it.”

 

Gansey snorted. “Hope Kavinsky doesn’t find out.”

 

Ronan walked away from Gansey and into his room, leaving the conversation at those last words. He didn’t know if he cared or not about Kavinsky finding out. If Kavinsky _did_ find out, he’d be pissed, but at the same time, Ronan felt satisfied. He’d helped Prokopenko, and for whatever reason, that made Kavinsky's anger okay.

 

 


	3. January 3, 2004; Bulgaria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: violence, abuse

“ _Faster_ , Joseph,” Nikola Kavinsky snarled, his cane smacking sharply into the back of his son’s calves. “And _watch_ where you’re going.”

 

Joseph tried to pump his legs faster as they walked through the crowded, smelly warehouse. The room was packed like a sardine can, and there were so many voices, Joseph could hardly make out his father’s among them. They were coming upon a smaller group of men in long coats and hats, standing before a makeshift stage made out of crates.

 

“Here,” Nikola growled, snatching two finger’s into Joseph’s collar to bring him to a halt.

 

The sudden tug made Joseph choke and almost fall over. He grasped onto his father’s sleeve to keep from crashing to the concrete. “Dad-” he tried to protest, but the sharp jab of his father’s cane against his foot made him gasp and go quiet.

 

The crowd of men were too tall for Joseph to see what they were all looking at, but a man’s voice on a microphone was calling dollar amounts.

 

“There hundred, do I hear four- _Four hundred_!”

 

Nikola snorted in distaste. “Child’s play, Joseph.”

 

“What are they doing, Dad?”

 

“Bidding… On a pathetic lot of Familiars.”  

 

Joseph jumped, trying to see, but it was in vain. He was too short and they were too tall. The room stank of onions and something fouler beneath. It was sharp and made his eyes water. “I want to see,” he complained.

 

“Hush, Joseph.”

 

“But-.”

 

“I said be quiet!” Nikola roared as he grabbed Joseph’s collar and walked him over to a few lonely crates in a stack. “Sit here and be quiet.”

 

The crates were cold against his bottom and he wished he’d had something to do. His father returned to the group of men, leaving Joseph to sit and mind his own business. A cold draft was coming directly against his face and cutting through his thin coat. He’d asked for a new winter coat for Christmas, but his father claimed only good boys received gifts, and he was not one of those boys.

 

A loud scraping noise, like someone scratching metal against glass, made Joseph flinch and cover his ears. The cold wind blasted from the direction of the sound. Men were yelling in languages he didn’t understand. Joseph used the stack of crates next to him to stand and try to see the source of the commotion.

 

He stood precariously at the top of the wobbly stack. There was a group of men in winter coats, leading a group of boys into the warehouse on chains, all of their necks fixed with iron collars. They were all young, around his age some older, dirty, and without clothes. Joseph flinched as he could see their skin was mottled with blue and purple from the cold. Suddenly, he was thankful for his thin coat.

 

The men yelled at the boys, whacking them with sticks and rods to make them shuffle. Whenever one moved, another had to move too which quickly became a problem. One boy fell, which made another fall and another. Joseph felt a giggle rush out of him, but the laugh died in his throat when the men began to beat the boys with rods.

 

Shrill shrieks made his ears hurt and he was so wrapped up in observing, he didn’t notice his father’s return. Not until ice cold hands gripped him and yanked him off of the crates. A small cry, like a startled animal, escaped him as he landed harshly on the ground.

 

“ _What_ are you doing, boy?!” Nikola demanded, his voice low and angry.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just wanted to see.”

 

Nikola rolled his eyes. “You don’t need to see. I only brought you, because I thought I would find you a Familiar.”

 

He gasped.

 

A Familiar? For him?

 

“R _eally_?” he asked not able to hide his excitement.

 

A brief smile quirked Mr. Kavinsky’s lips. “Yes. However, the pickings are slim with the new laws. Detestable - having to let _them_ choose. It’s disgusting. Never heard of such a thing in my day.” Nikola turned to face him then, pointing a finger at him. “Know this, Joseph, _Familiars_ are not people and should not be treated as such. They are your property. You own them, you decide their fate. Understood?”

 

He had never seen a Familiar before, but Joseph found himself nodding anyway. If his father said Familiars were not people, then they weren’t. “Yes, Sir.”

 

“Good.”

 

“When will I get one, Dad?” he asked as his father began to limp away, toward the doors. He had to run to keep up.

 

“Soon, my son.”

 

“For my birthday?”

 

“Possibly. Now, no more questions. Keep up!”

 

“Yes, Sir.” Joseph ducked his head and walked faster. They passed the beaten boys on the way to the car. He ignored them.

 

* * *

 

 

“Joseph, wake up!”

 

He could feel his body being shaken awake, which made the dream he was having fall out of his grasp with a start. The small object he’d been dreaming of fell out of his hands as his eyes flew open and he was staring up at his father instead. Nikola looked angry, which was nothing new, his father always tended to look angry. “Time izzit?” he asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

 

“Very early,” Nikola replied. “Get your boots on, we’re going out.”

 

“Where?”

 

“What did I say about questions?” Nikola walked over to his dresser and tossed pants and socks at him. “Hurry!”

 

As quickly as his father had appeared, Nikola disappeared through the door. Despite having a limp, his father moved quietly through the house, he couldn’t even hear if Nikola had taken the stairs or not. Joseph pulled the pants down over his underwear and slid his socks on after. His coat and galoshes were by the front door in the closet, so he was quick to pad down the steps.

 

Nikola stood by the front door, looking annoyed that he had to be up at such an hour. He snapped at him to hurry. Joseph pulled on his boots first wiggling his toes in the too small galoshes.

 

“Hurry up, boy you’re wasting time.”

 

“Sorry,” he said quietly, pulling on the too thin coat after. The edges were scratchy and they made his wrist and neck sore.

 

Nikola guided him with cold hands to a large, black car that was already running. He needed help climbing into the back, but once seated and buckled, the car drove smoothly away from their home. They drove for a long time in silence, so long that Joseph could feel his bladder hurting. His father was sitting beside him, one hand gripping the head of his cane tightly, while his eyes watched the scenery go by.

 

“Dad,” he whispered. “I have to potty.”

 

Nikola sneered as if the very thought repulsed him. “Hold it.”

 

“But-.” Joseph cut off when his father turned and smacked his face hard enough to make his ears ring. HIs mouth tasted like pennies.

 

“ _Don’t_ argue with me,” Nikola growled. “Do not cry either, I don’t want to see or hear it, especially when I’m doing this for _you_ , you ungrateful brat.”

 

The words left a sting long after his face quit throbbing. The car ride was silent after until they came upon a pier and another dark warehouse near the water. The gates were covered in overgrowth, but the car managed to squeeze through the opening. Joseph glanced the time on the dash: 3:45 a.m.

 

His bladder screamed in protest when the driver came around and helped him hop down. Being small for his age was horrible.

 

“Quickly Joseph,” his father called.

 

He trailed after his father into the large black building as quickly as his bladder would allow. There were men waiting for them inside the dark hallway with flashlights. The place smelled of rotten meat and eggs. It made his stomach clench, but he followed his father and the men he didn’t recognize down the long hallway. A mouse scurrying by almost didn’t miss the tip of his father’s cane, which made Joseph flinch at the thought of the impaled creature.

 

They were coming upon a room that looked large from the sweep of the flashlights. The darkness only lasted for a brief moment before the room was flooded with white light. The sudden change made his headache, but after his vision began to clear, Joseph felt his stomach drop.

 

Nikola was smiling ear to ear at the scene before them. “Excellent!” he said with a cruel laugh. “ _Excellent_! Already started I see.”

 

The floor was covered in several ugly pool, blue tarps, which were spattered in a dark, brownish liquid. It took Joseph a minute to realize the liquid was blood, but he supposed the unmoving, pale boys on the ground should have clued him in. They were dead.

 

A group of men in the corner had vicious dogs on chains, their muzzles dark red. They snarled, barked, and attempted to bite one another, until his father blew a whistle and they settled down. Joseph looked at the dead boys sadly; they were the boys from earlier today.

 

“So,” Nikola said as he began to walk around the tarp, inspecting the bodies. “No good prospects?”

 

“No, Sir,” a man holding a dog still said. He was huge, bigger than his tall father. “All were eliminated quickly. None of ‘em could change. Died like sniveling, pissing children.”

 

Nikola snorted. “Pathetic. I want a strong Familiar for my boy and if they can't change on will, what good are they?”

 

The men all chuckled as if his father had said something clever or funny. The room smelled of pennies and Joseph realized he was shaking and his bladder was close to bursting. The dead boy's’ eyes were empty and staring directly at him. They were all so small and young. He was going to lose his dinner.

 

“Are there any left?” Nikola asked.

 

“One,” the big man said. “He speaks little English.”

 

Nikola spat on the ground. “That can be fixed. Bring him.”

 

One of the men with the flashlights disappeared behind a plastic curtain. THe room felt overly quiet while they waited. More than anything, Joseph wanted to flee. He wanted it all to be a terrible dream.

 

A protest in a language he didn’t know made Joseph look at the curtain until a young blonde boy covered in bruises was led out by force. The dogs began to bark and yank on their chains in a frenzy. It made Joseph nervous - one weak link and the dogs would be free.

 

The boy was dragged to the middle of the trap and near another dead boy. His father blew the whistle again, sending the dogs into silence. The boy was forced to his knees with a whimper. The silence dragged on afterward, which made Joseph think of when his father was mad and he wanted you to know it. Sometimes, he preferred his father yelling.

 

“Do you understand English?” The boy nodded. “Good. The dogs are going to come for you, unless you change form. Understood?”

 

Joseph began to squeeze his thighs together. The thoughts of wanting to relieve himself became consuming. The boy was crying; Nikola Kavinsky hated crying. He wanted to yell to the boy, to warn him that crying was not allowed.

 

Nikola blew his whistle.

 

The next events seemed to happen in slow motion. The dogs were released and the slavering beasts began to bolt across the tarp. The man holding the boy quickly jumped back and Joseph felt convinced the boy would die. Someone screamed.

 

The whistle sounded.

 

Joseph pried his eyes open; he didn’t even remember shutting them. In place of the boy was now a young, spotted deer. He was delicate and frozen to the spot. The dogs waited, inches away frozen in place.

 

Nikola’s face split into a smile and he barked out another cruel laugh. “Good. _Good_. Your form is weak, but my son will decide.” His father turned. “Does Bambi appeal to you, boy?”

 

Joseph dropped his eyes to the puddle on the ground. He’d wet his pants.

 

“Joseph!”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

“Yes you want this one?”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

Nikola regarded him for a long moment in silence before snorting and saying coldly, “I suppose a weak pissant like you _would_ want such a feeble creature. Pack him up, boys. Let the dogs eat the rest.”

 

The boy was dragged away and Joseph tried to pretend he was elsewhere when a dog ripped open a dead boy’s stomach.


	4. Present Day Virgina

“Thought they were going to crush your car.” 

 

Kavinsky slammed the Mitsubishi’s door listening to the satisfying sound reverberating around the parking lot. “They keep saying that, but they never do jack shit about it. They’re teases.” 

 

Declan Lynch rolled his eyes and snorted. “Your cocky mouth is going to get you killed.” 

 

“That a threat?” Kavinsky asked as he looked Declan and his shiny Volvo over; sharp, slim suit neat tie perfect hair, strong jawline and clear blue eyes made Declan stand out from his younger brothers. The visage matched the car perfectly. 

 

“No,” Declan replied. “Are you sober?” 

 

“Unfortunately.” 

 

Declan nodded. “Good. I brought you something.” 

 

Kavinsky frowned and leaned back against his car. After spending part of the night in a cell, he was too tired for more mirth. Declan pulled out a small box from his inner jacket pocket. It was a little black square, not quite a ring box but it still put him on edge. Whatever game Declan was playing, he wanted out. 

 

“Don’t make that face, I’m not proposing,” Declan said with a snort. “Nobody would want to marry your shitty ass anyway.” 

 

The box was light and Kavinsky held it in his palm before plucking the lid free. “Hope it’s coke, Daddy,” he spat nastily, even as he felt his heart skip a beat. The box held a bloody ear. He threw the box back at Declan, who was now his father. 

 

Nikola laughed. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Kavinsky!” 

The sharp voice grated against his dream and he sat up with a gasp. Declan Lynch, the real, annoyed Declan Lynch, stood outside the holding cell along with the guard. 

“The fuck you doing here?” Kavinsky asked talking too loudly. Pain had built up behind his eyes, the dream leaving him shaken and nauseous. 

“You called me to bail you out” Declan replied. The lock was popped on the cell door and the guard pulled it open. “Let’s go.” 

“Oh,” he said. “Whatever.” 

Declan folded his arms across his chest. “Come on seriously, let’s go, I have an early meeting in a few hours. You owe me eight hundred dollars.” 

Kavinsky stood and walked out of the cell to collect his belongings. Declan signed some paperwork and Kavinsky took his plastic bag of stuff. He didn’t worry about his record or charges being pressed; Nikola Kavinsky may have been dead, but his hand still dipped well into blue coffers. 

“Seriously eight hundred dollars,” Declan repeated as they stepped outside toward the silver Volvo. It was the real life counterpart to his dream. 

“I don’t have money on me,” he snapped. 

“And not dream money either.” 

The Volvo chirped as it unlocked. It was starting to become light on the horizon. He wasn’t even sure what day it was anymore. 

“You alright?” Declan asked as he turned the heat on.

“Fuck off.” 

“Would it kill you to let someone be nice to you?” 

Part of him wanted to say  _ yes _ , but silence seemed better. Louder. Businesses were starting to open and people were already milling about to presumably start shopping. Kavinsky sneered and placed his head against the window of the Volvo. 

“Am I dropping you off at home?” Declan asked. 

Kavinsky glanced over at the handsome Lynch brother. All of them were gorgeous - even Matthew had an appealing face. It wasn’t fair. Declan had the air of a man, even though he was only nineteen. Kavinsky couldn’t help but stare at Declan’s hands; they were big, but he had long, piano player fingers. He began to wonder how far those fingers could reach, when the car stopped. 

“I don’t exactly like the silent treatment,” Declan said as they had to sit at the red light. There was a black dog walking its owner across the crosswalk. 

“Well, if you would just  _ shut up _ ,” Kavinsky snarled fiercely. 

Declan’s face went blank and Kavinsky could see him mentally restraining himself from saying something rude. “Home or not, Joseph?” Declan asked pointedly. 

Joseph. 

The name rubbed against his skin and left a bad taste in his mouth. “Fuck. Off. Lynch.” 

“Get out. I’m trying to help and you-. Just get out” 

“Fine.” He opened the car door and flipped Declan off as he drove away. “Not gettin’ your cash now, you prick.” 

The icy wind made him shiver and he quickly ducked into the nearest diner to text the group of boys he called friends. 

\--  _ one of u losers come get me _

**Jiang -- no**

**Skov -- fuck u kavinsky 2 early**

Neither Swan nor Prokopenko responded to the group text. 

Prokopenko. 

_ Shit _ , Kavinsky thought as he remembered Proko was in the hospital. Unlocking his phone, he dialed the other Lynch. Ronan, of course, did not pick up. He called again. 

“Gansey,” came the answer. 

“ _ Dick _ ” he purred. “Tell Lynch to get over himself and that I need a ride.” 

Gansey made a rude noise. “Car impounded?” 

“Just put Lynch on the phone, Dick.” 

There was a shuffle and then Ronan reluctantly answered, “You aware of the fuckin’ time?” 

“Your brother’s a dick, so come pick me up. I gotta go check on fucking Proko.” 

Ronan paused, as if he were mulling it over. “Fine. Be careful Kavinsky, people might start to think you actually give a fuck. Text me where you are.” 

Kavinsky hung up; he didn’t do apologies or thank you’s, Lynch knew that. Instead, Kavinsky texted Ronan the address, and flirted with the waitress until she brought him free breakfast.

 

* * *

Hospitals smelled of death; a pungent mixture of formaldehyde and rot. The combination of human age and blood made Kavinsky’s stomach twist and roil. He hated hospitals, but he had to check on Proko. After fighting with the nurse, she eventually allowed him back to see him. 

“We pumped his stomach, he’s very lucky,” she was saying as they walked. 

“Thanks.” 

Room 211. 

The room itself was small with ugly beige walls. Prokopenko looked small on the hospital bed, but he was at least sitting up, despite looking tired. 

“You have a  _ visitor _ ,” the nurse said with a huge smile. 

“Kavinsky,” Proko said with a weak smile. “Sorry I can’t hold my liquor.” 

The nurse left the room and Kavinsky sat in a chair near the bed. “It wasn’t liquor, moron, it was that pill I gave you. The green one.” 

“Oh.” 

They both went quiet after and Proko turned on the TV. There wasn’t anything left to say. He was the reason Proko was in the hospital and they both knew it. The nurse had called him  _ lucky _ , but the she didn’t know Proko or his status in the world. She didn’t know he was property. 

Once Proko had fallen asleep, Kavinsky snuck out and had Ronan drive him home. “Tell your brother to screw himself,” He said as he climbed out of the black BMW. 

“I’ll tell Declan you send your love.” 

Kavinsky rolled his eyes and tried not to think of the dream and what it meant. Delcan turning into his father, the box containing the severed ear; it made him shudder. The Kavinsky mansion stood tall and unsubtle as he walked up pto the front door. His mother would be too fucked up on cocaine or heroine to notice his absence and return. While his father was dead, Nikola still continued to carry a presence. The man hadn’t even lived in Henrietta, and yet, Kavinsky couldn’t shake his father’s memory. 

He needed to get out of Henrietta.


	5. August 12, 2010; New Jersey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: child abuse  
> tw: child rape -- it is heavily implied but no extremely graphic details

Sweat trickled down the curve of his lower back and in between his buttcheeks unpleasantly. New Jersey’s heat was not what he was used to compared to Bulgaria. Joseph stood with Proko outside a convenience store that they’d walked to from the new house where his mother was dictating over how certain paintings should hang and in which room specific drapery should go. They were holding popsicles he’d dreamt up, they never melted, sucking on them eagerly to cool off. 

 

A man in a truck drove by and whistled suggestively, which made Joseph’s face burn red. He raised his middle finger and yelled, “Hey! Fuck you!” 

 

“Joey,” Proko hissed in worry. “ _ Don’t _ .” 

 

“Ain’t  _ nobody _ gonna fuck with us, Proko, my dad’s Nikola Kavinsky!” 

 

Nikola Kavinsky turned into a legend no matter where he went. When he’d been younger, Joseph had never known what his father did for a living to make so much money, but his mother told him Nikola spoke to men and told them what to do. She wasn’t a liar, she just wasn’t very specific. Despite his mother wanting to protect him, he’d  _ learned _ what his father did for a living on his tenth birthday. 

 

> _ Liquid running down his thighs was only a reminder of the pain he’d been in earlier, but Joseph shut his eyes and pretended that he was elsewhere. Anywhere else. He was lying in a field of grass and the expansive blue sky went on forever. Proko stretched out beside him in his deer form, small antler covered in velvet. Everything was soft.  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “Joseph.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ He flinched at his father’s voice, but he managed to slowly sit up and look at his father’s shoes. It was impossible to look his father in the eye after a rough night. “Yes, Father?”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “Come to my study. I want to show you something.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “Yes, Father.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ The doorway became empty and Joseph slid off of his bed and limped toward the hallway. The stairs seemed so far away, but with the use of the wall, he managed to wobble to them and then down the steps one at a time. His mother was standing in the foyer, her face pale and drawn, as if she were tired. She was holding a cigarette and her eyes were red.  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “What’s wrong?” he asked her as soon as he touched down on the foyer floor.  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ She glanced at him. Her face was wild and surprised; it was like she’d never seen him before in her life. “Hurry up,” she whispered. “Your father is waiting for you. Hurry up.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “Sorry.” Joseph hurried down the hall and toward his father’s study, trying not to think about the pain he’d suffered inside the dark, mahogany door. The door handle turned easily and Joseph blinked at the scene in front of him with surprise and alarm. On the floor was his grandfather, his mother’s father, facedown and bound by the wrist with rope. He was moaning in pain and Joseph wondered if he’d suffered an invisible injury.  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “What’s going on?” he asked.  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “Shut the door, Joseph,” Nikola said gravely, his hands clasped in front of him. “It is by time I teach you about the family business.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ He shut the door, but didn’t stray away from it. Not until his father gestured  for him to come closer and he had no choice but to walk over and stand next to his father. Nikola gestured at his grandfather on the ground, looking old and feeble. Grandpapa had always seemed  _ terrifying _ to Joseph growing up, but lying on the ground now, he seemed weak.  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “Your Grandpapa is a weak,  _ weak _ man, Joseph,” Nikola said slowly with a hint of amusement. He was clearly enjoying the show. “He thought he could double cross me.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “I did no such thing!” the old man yelled from the floor in rage. “You keep your boy out of this, Nikola, this is between  _ us _.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Nikola grabbed his cane and jabbed it right into his grandfather’s spine, making the man gasp and choke. Joseph flinched a little but tried to keep his face clear of tears or weakness. The can could easily be turned on him and he didn’t need more pain tonight.  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “You’ve been stealing money from the business for  _ years _ , you fucking cunt,” Nikola snarled as he walked over to his desk and pulled out a shiny revolver. He brandished it toward his grandfather. “Stole his own daughter’s money! Because he’s  _ weak _ and can’t provide for himself anymore. So he stole from  _ us _ , Joseph. From you.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Joseph frowned and looked at his grandfather wheezing on the ground and then back toward his father again. The gun was silver and the handle was bone white. It looked slick and mean in the dim study. “How did he steal it?” Joseph asked slowly. He’d never seen his grandfather around their house, not unless it was Christmas, so he couldn’t imagine the man stealing their money.  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “I’m glad you asked, son, what an intelligent question. Perhaps, you aren’t as dimwitted as I first thought,” Nikola said as he started to limp back over to them, still holding the gun. “You see, I do a lot of things to make us money, son. I run many businesses-.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “You mean you launder businesses,” his grandfather snarled, which only resulted in Nikola slamming his boot into the old man’s back. Joseph gulped at the wail of pain it resulted in.  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “Shut up,” Nikola said. “Just  _ shut up _.” He turned to face his son again, holding the gun, gesturing wildly. He’d never seen his father so animated. “Joseph, my boy, I have many businesses that make us money. I have many men working for me and when they don’t pay me the money they owe, I kill them. That is the truth. You have a right to know that truth.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Joseph gulped as he thought back to the dead boys. The warehouse. “You kill people?”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “Yes.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “But-.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “They deserve it, son. I give them chances. I give them  _ many _ chances, and most of the time, I do get paid. I get the money I’ve earned and then I give it to your mother. I give it to you. I put clothes on your back and food in your belly. I bought you that new bicycle for Christmas.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Joseph nodded slowly in agreement. He’d never not had food or clothes. At least not that he could remember. “And Grandpapa stole our money?”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “ _ Yes _ , son. He stole our money. He stole your mother’s money. He stole her diamond necklace that I bought her for her birthday… and he’s been slowly leaking my businesses dry.” Nikola turned to sneer at his grandfather and he pressed a boot to his skull and pressed down, making him scream. “It is time I show you what I do to people who steal from me.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Joseph stared at the gun in his father’s hand and then looked at the door. He wanted Proko. He wanted to go back to bed. “Father-.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “Hush,” Nikola said and then he set the gun on his desk and took a step back. “You think you have power Anton, but you  _ lack _ power. I will show you  _ real _ power.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Joseph watched as his father squeezed his hand into a fist and for a moment, nothing happened, and then his grandfather began to choke and gasp. He looked down and saw there was blood pouring out of his grandfather’s ears; there was something thick and slimy in the blood and the smell soon made Joseph feel sick to his stomach. His grandfather twitched and shook as he died.  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ The smell of death would never leave him. The smell of shit and piss. The smell of burning brain matter. The smell of blood. Joseph shut his eyes and began to pretend he was lying in the field with Proko. Anywhere but there.  _
> 
>  

Nikola Kavinsky was a powerful witch, but after being run out of their Communist country, they’d come to the States and to start up new businesses. His father made money the illegal way and he intimidated men into working for him. He killed the ones who got in the way and betrayed his trust. 

 

No one was fool enough to harm Nikola Kavinsky’s only son.

 

The truck in question came to a crawl and began to turn around. Proko began to panic and tug on his sleeve. For a moment, Joseph didn’t panic. His father hated him, yes, but he was Kavinsky blood. He’d earned the right to be protected, even if he were a disappointment. But the truck drove back over to them and the man began to climb out and walk right up to them. Joseph dropped his popsicle. 

 

“Joey,  _ come on _ ,” Proko urged, still pulling at his sleeve. 

 

The alarm bells going off in his head told him to run, but his legs were locked in place. The way the man approached reminded him of late nights in his father’s office. The rage on the stranger’s face made his heart race. The way he was reaching for his belt. Proko was still grabbing him and trying to pull him away in the opposite direction. If they ran they could make it back to the house and to safety. 

 

But he wasn’t running. 

 

“You want some, pretty boy?” the man asked as he began to unzip himself right there in public. “Bet your little cock gets hard all the time. Come on, stick it out, lemme show you what to do with it.” 

 

Joseph swallowed and felt a lump fill his throat. His legs were shaking in place and he couldn’t make them move. Proko stepped between them then, taller than Joseph by several inches, but thinner and more delicate. The man laughed as he pulled out his dick. It was ugly and the sight made Joseph’s stomach flip flop. 

 

It was then he suddenly wished Proko could turn into a tiger. Something more fierce than a deer. It was then he wished people could  _ know _ there was magic in the world. He wasn’t allowed to use his powers outside of the house and neither could Proko. There was too much involved to keep witch hunters away. His father had fled from witch hunters as a boy and while his mother had no magic in her, her father had been a witch, so she’d married into a strong witch family. 

 

But regular people, like the man in front of them, did not know about magic. 

 

That, however, did not stop Proko from pulling out a knife and cutting the man so much it made him squeal like a girl. Joseph blinked in surprise at all of the blood on the ground and on Proko’s hands. The man continued to squeal as he held his hands over his crotch. Proko turned and shouted at him to run. 

 

He ran.

 

* * *

“I come home from a  _ long _ day at work to  _ this _ ?” Nikola Kavinsky was pacing the floor in his study, while Joseph and Proko stood near the door, eyes glued to the ground. “The police at my door, telling me that my son and his friend caused a severe disturbance outside of the local convenience store. That the injured man wants to press charges. Do you have any idea how much it is going to cost me to make the police  _ go away _ , Joseph?” 

“He showed us his dick,” Joseph snapped angrily, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists. It was Proko’s fault they were in trouble. If they’d just stood there and dealt with whatever the man had wanted to do then they wouldn’t  _ be _ in trouble now. He was furious. 

Nikola turned to face them. “He did what?” 

“He unzipped his pants and showed us his dick,” he said again, making a disgusted face. 

“To two twelve year old boys?” Nikola asked. 

He nodded. If his father was anything, it was a hypocrite. 

“And the police did not believe you?” 

“They didn’t fucking ask-.” 

“ _ Language _ , Joseph,” his father snarled, even as he spat out curses in Bulgarian. Curses were some of the only things Joseph still remembered from his mother tongue. “Which one of you did it?” 

“I did,” Proko said as he stepped forwardly timidly. “I had the knife.” 

Nikola regarded Proko carefully and ran his fingers along his trim beard, as if he were considering the possibility of Proko cutting off a grown man’s penis. “Well, I must say, I am impressed… Disappointed that my own son didn’t have the balls to defend himself, but impressed you did your job for once. Familiars always protect their witches.” 

It was almost a compliment - if you ignored the insult within. 

“I will speak with the police,” Nikola continued. “Joseph, you may go.” 

“C’mon, Proko-.” 

“No,” Nikola snapped. “He stays.” 

Proko looked back at him with panic on his face, but Joseph shook his head slightly. There was no escaping when Nikola asked you to stay. He was just glad it wasn’t him for once. Stepping out of his father’s study, Joseph went to sit by the window and look out at the front lawn. His mother was outside talking with the young gardener. She had her hand on his arm, her head thrown back in an animated laugh. She didn’t laugh that way around his father. 

A muted screech made Joseph flinch as he turned away from the study’s door. He could hear his father grunting and Proko crying. He was glad, for once, it was not him. 


End file.
